Being Wrong: Better than Living Right
by purplepanda7
Summary: Everything that you are is contrary to everything I've learned is best and yet, you're smart, powerful, intense, brave, beautiful… If liking you goes against everything that I've been taught and it feels so right, then the rest must be wrong. LilyXJames


He is the guy you tread lightly around. The amount of confidence he possesses is extremely intimidating so that when he threatens your family, you believe that he could get his desired results. His family is notorious in their disdain for muggle-borns being welcomed into their wizarding world. From that first time you met him on the train, you knew he was person to not get on the wrong side of and that no matter how stubborn-headed you are, you would cave to his will simply for the fact that he would make your time at Hogwarts unbearable. You never see him smile unless it is full of cruelty at some bad deed that he did. Yet he remains the most level headed person you know because you've never seen him loose control of his emotions, you've never see him act out impulsively; instead he plots his revenge so that nothing can get back to him and ruin his good standing with the professors .

Despite all this, you can't help but notice just how charismatic he can be. He can bend people to his will, twist their words around until they agree with him, and make you hold your breath when he walks into a room causing your eyes to follow his every move, not out of fear but because your infatuation with him.

It's third year and he makes eye contact with you from across the room to which you quickly duck your head and try unsuccessfully to keep the blush from spreading over your face. You hear his low dark laugh but refuse to look up from the notes you're supposed to be taking.

You wonder for thousandth time how he ended up in Gryffindor and not in Slytherin like his family has been for years. You remember his anger, the only outburst he's shown in your years at school together; an anger that resonated throughout his whole body. It contorted his face and tensed his muscles. You remember the headmaster's eyes widening in surprise before narrowing in calculation at the response showing that clearly the man wasn't expecting the show of emotion.

He didn't end up being the only pureblood in an unwanted house. Before his sorting a boy from another long line of pure blooded power was sorted into Gryffindor. It became your misfortune that they got along too well and feed off of each other's ill-desires. Strangely enough, the two in question included two other Gryffindors into their world within that first year while also somehow forming friendships with students in Slytherin. You remember his power of persuasion building even as a young first year; you could hear him talked about in the halls by older students, commenting on how good of a wizard he would become.

It's third year and you've found yourself at his house for Muggle Studies. Your professor thought it would be beneficial to see the contrast between a muggle home and a pureblooded manor. Many of the other students look around with little interest, taking in sights that many had seen before, but you take in every magical item you can. As you gaze around the main entry, marveling at what your classmates grew up in. As you come to the realization of just how much further your life is from his, seeing that his home is actually a mansion, the rest of the group disappears leaving you trying to figure out where to go.

That's when you feel it. You feel those creeping tendrils that come from somebody who doesn't have control of their magic. Following it you come to a room on the third floor at the back of the manor and you quietly push open the door. On the bed is an old man with tears running down his face. When he sees you, your eyes widen in fear for a moment before you see his eyes light up in recognition.

"Ella, my beautiful Ella." And just like that his face loses ten years and you can see a young man with characteristics just like the boy in your year. The glaze covering his eyes show how far out of his mind he is but you walk forward as the door closes behind you when he starts recounting everything that has happened since your last day of Hogwarts together.

It's fourth year and from the light emitted by the full moon you see him spread out on the grounds from your window. It's the middle of the night; you remember hearing the clock tower ring twice not too long ago while you were finishing your essay for potions. You wonder about what would have persuaded him to star gaze this late in the fall, if that's really what he's doing. You never can tell what he's thinking about even though you've spent four years studying his face, trying to read it like one of your books.

You're taking a step away from the window to finally go to bed when you see a shadow move at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Automatically, you move closer so as to see what it is. Your breath catches as a great beast emerges, slowly stalking toward his prone figure on the ground. You can see the concentration in his gaze; his attention fixed solely on his prey.

You panic, trying frantically to remember anything you might know about werewolves and come up with nothing. You fly across the room, fling open your DADA book and hastily search for anything to use to ward it off. You skim over a section before doubling back, inwardly rejoicing at your good fortune. The window is open without you remembering your hands unlocking it. You hear your roommates cry out against the cold wind that rushes in. You let out a howl as loud as you can and can't help the grin that graces your face when the werewolf snaps his head up, looking toward the castle.

You hear your name called out from within your room but pay no mind when you see the beast's attention going back to the human before him. Another howl comes up from you and you can hear it catch with the wind and travel across the vast greens below and into the forest. This time the werewolf's full attention is taken and he moves with hast after your voice. You see him disappear between the trees and watch the leaves rustle, showing his path deep into the forest. Your eyes find the body remaining flat on the grass and your hearing picks up a faint groan. You lean out the window, trying to see better and you hear the groan again; a painful, distraught sound coming from him.

Wiping on your cloak, waving off questions from your peers, running with all your might and taking every short cut you know, it still takes a good ten minutes to finally reach him. You collapse on your knees beside him and hear the ground squelch beneath you. Your world dims and you begin to understand that his blood has soaked the grass. You summon a blood replenishing potion that by change you had made for your potions essay and pore it down his throat before gently levitating him and then taking off to the hospital wing.

A shout erupts from your mouth, alerting the matron of your presence. You lower him on a bed as she scold you for yelling before she sees his state and immediately gets to work. You follow her directions as well as you can to help her stop the bleeding. You see that his blood has spilled over and had created a pool beneath him. His skin is ghastly looking, making him blend in with his white hospital surroundings. The red that covers your hands hurts your eyes at it deep color. Your breath picks up its pace as you realize you might see death tonight. Your mind slows down and your sight goes out of focus. You can't breathe and find yourself swaying before the matron shouts an order at you. You snap back to the situation at hand and do your part to try and help. This cycle continues until the color slowly starts returning to his face and the sky begins to flow outside.

You cast a spell that erases all traces of his blood on your hands before collapsing into the chair next to him as the matron does a quick check over his healing wounds. Despite your best efforts to keep your eyes open, they feel like magnets pulling toward each other. You're not sure how much time passes but you start when the hospital doors bang open to reveal three horribly disheveled men, all supported each other and collapsing on their individual beds. You spring up, readying yourself to help as the matron gives you directions.

She sees to the one who has already passed out, shooing you to the next person who appears to be in the most pain. Before you can help him, he refuses with a stone cold look and you can't help but feel your stomach clench in an uneasy pain at the sheer prejudice placed upon you for not being pure blood. You are about to comment on how absurd it is to refuse your help based on your blood status when he gestures to the third patient. He tells you to tend to his friend before you heal him. You freeze for an instant, surprised at the bond between them but then immediately start checking over your patient.

It proved difficult to help him not only because you do not have an experienced matron telling you what to do, but you can't block out all the extra noise. You can't block out the sounds of the man's ragged breath; the sound of fluid gathering in his lungs. You can't block out the hurried frenzy of the matron working on her patient, moving faster than she did just earlier that dreadful morning. You cannot tune out the story that the man not being tended to is retelling, to whoever is listening. You cannot block out the anguished cries of your first patient, trying desperately to get himself up and to his best mates but finding himself unable to hold his own weight. You cannot block out the growing volume of the blood pumping through your ears.

boom, boom, Boom, Boom, BOOM

BOOM!

A scream burst through your thoughts and your head snaps to the entry doors to see a girl in your year standing in terror at the sight before her. Before you can even comprehend what she must be seeing, the matron shoves her out and locks the door behind her before resuming her work. You take a deep breath, preparing yourself to dive back into the horror story you've somehow found yourself to be part of when your eyes meet his. You are struck by his gaze and just how much emotion he shows through them. Before you can even begin to interpret what he is thinking, you shake your head to focus back on the work at hand.

You faintly hear the dull noise coming from the Great Hall which grows to its peak and then you hardly notice when the silence takes over once again showing the time pass. The matron finished her work sometime ago, checked up on you with only a few commands of what you should tend to next, before healing the final waiting man and finishing up on all the remaining healing needed for the man you brought in early that morning. You run your eyes over the body laid out on the bed, finally seeing all the wounds he had and the work you've done

The relief that everything you could do has been done sinks in at the same time the fatigue does. The red on your hands stand out stark against your pale skin and you aimlessly walk over to the sink to ride the blood. You hear the doors open and the Headmaster's voice resound across the room. You feel yourself trying to turn to see the familiar kind eyes of the man that leads your beloved school but find yourself unable to tear your eyes away from your hands. You begin to rub your hands harder, desperate for everything of this day to wash away. You feel a presence behind you but cannot stop your actions until he turns the water off for you.

The weight of the morning crashes over you and although you cannot feel the tears on your face, you can see them falling into the sink, mixing in with the remaining water droplets. You have yet to see him because your feet have ceased cooperating with you and will not move so you remain frozen, staring at the porcelain sink. The only reason you become aware of your body shaking is because you can see your hands quivering before you. His pressure on your shoulders turns you around and the only thought you can muster before you cling onto him for dear life is that the work you did in the wee hours of the morning paid off and his wounds had healed completely.

You're lifted off the ground and your arms unconsciously go around his neck and you are carried to a bed at the back of the hospital wing. He sets you down and you curl into yourself, not quite crying but unable to control the tremors that go through your body or the unintentional flow of water from your eyes. Only when the matron comes over and pushes him aside do you realize the death grip you have on his hand and try as you might, you cannot let go. A potion is poured down your throat and the last sight you see before that dream world claims you is his gaze; a gaze that holds a vast amount of never before seen emotions which you could analyze for years and still never know what is hidden beneath his mask.

It's the beginning of your fifth year and you're on your first ever rounds with your fellow prefect. You can't help but glace outside at the moon as you pass by a window and then steal a glance at him. You hear his sigh and see him shake his head before you ask how many days until the moon is full. Before he answers, his mates come around the corner walking toward the pair of you with devilish grins on their faces. You back away and lower your gaze because despite your help in saving their lives, the status quo remains the same and you are still muggle born. Your partner glances at you when the others tell him to skive off to Hogsmeade with them. He slowly shakes his head and tells them to go ahead without him. The three shift their focus away from him and their eyes fall on you which is when you begin to worry at what they might do.

He steps forward and remarks that whatever feelings you might have aroused in his friend, that at the end of the day, blood will be blood and there is nothing you can offer in the long run. He is thrown back against the stone wall with your partner's wand pointed at him between the eyes. With cold steal seeping through his words he reminds him that not too many moons ago you were able to provide them all with something for the long run. His form crumples to the ground as your partner releases his hold while simultaneously letting out a growl very much like his animal counterpart before gesturing you forward, laying his hand on your back and walking past the three of them to finish your rounds.

It's the week after Christmas break later that year and you can't help but feel that his eyes meet yours more than they ever used to. Fearing this, you retreat more often to the library with your select friends instead of trying the study lounges or the common room. When you come upon the realization that his very presence puts you on the defense and frightens you into submission, your redheaded anger begins to build.

You cannot fathom how the years took away the fire from your youth to the reserved, timid and pitiful girl you have become. You contemplate the fact that in the times of dire situations that you've found yourself in, you have always proved yourself to be strong. Yet, despite knowing this, you cannot stand up for yourself in everyday life. You throw yourself into your studies and research, needing to feel confident in your abilities, in your magic, in your very being. You grow proud in your accomplishments and take to heart every compliment, every praise, every highest score for the class.

You see people start watching you as you come into the class. You start to see the younger students part out of your way as you walk down the halls and whispered discussions after you've gone by. You notice the professors nodding at you in passing and older students sending you smiles from where they happen to be. Each of these pulls your posture up straighter, pushes your shoulders back more, and lifts your head up higher. By the end of the year, you meet his gaze and it's not you who looks away, but him.

It's the month before OWLS and you can feel the tension building in your fellow classmates. You claim a corner of the common room with your close friends to spread out for countless hours of studying ahead of you. It's not long after when you can silence anybody, in your year, those below you and even all those older with but a single look. Soon after that, the opposite corner of the common room is occupied by those four, now most powerful men in the school, despite their fifth year standing.

Whenever your reading overcomes you, you take to leaning back in your chair and staring across the room at his form bent over his studies. It surprises you to find that he keeps the group focused on their studies instead of your prefect counterpart. You finally learn to read just a part of him through that month of studying and realize just how reserved he is even amongst his closest friends.

Then, one rare day and by happenstance, you are looking at the group, you see four smiles spread across their faces and as your eyes widen in surprise at this unseen feature gracing his face when his eyes meet your. You raise your eyebrows in silent question, slightly challenging him and your breath stops as color rushes into his cheeks and his head drops back to his book.

You replay this vision through the last month of your fifth year. When you can't remember something, these two seconds replay. When you start pulling your hair out not just because of the frustration of your studies but at your peers pestering you, it replays. Whenever you come across a difficult question, you replay that blush.

Although you find yourself thinking of him more than you did those first five year at school (and admittedly more than you've ever thought of anyone) nothing changes between the two of you. You continue to purposefully go out of your way to not cross paths with him and he goes about his normal way. You still say to yourself that you don't want to make contact with him because of the promise you made after Christmas break that you would stand up for your blood and not back down. You know that you continue to avoid him not for this reason, but because you don't want him to ruin that vision that you see so vividly in your dreams every night.

It's not until that last day of testing that the two of you make contact. The final exam starts soon and you're running late so when you almost collide with him as you're leaving the common room, you don't quite remember coming down the stairs, let alone seeing him in the doorway, also on his way out. He gestures for you to go first and you stand still for a second too long, staring at his close proximity. You can't remember seeing him this close (without tears in your eyes in any case) in your entire acquaintance so the light sprinkle of freckles on his face surprises you. As you walk by, you feel claustrophobic because of his great height made even larger because of his Quidditch muscles. Your breath hitches and your steps quicken but he falls into stride with you, side-by-side.

As you turn to head down the stairs he reaches out and takes hold of your wrist to which you yank out of his grasp. You both stop and stare at each other for a moment before he motions to the door behind him and states that it's a shortcut since you're both running late. Your eyes flicker to the door and then back to his face. You try to read if what he says is true or if it is some sort of trap when his lips quirk up and he tells you straight out to trust him. You scowl but nod for him to go first and you follow with your wand out, hidden from his view, knowing that if that slight quirk of his lips hadn't been there, there was no way you would have risked it.

Although the passage way is dimly lit and the floor is uneven with stones that make you trip hard once and fall forward (to be caught by his quick hands and set you back on your feet), your eyes adjust to the light of the entrance hall in a tenth of the time it would normally take. You walk into the Great Hall together and see many surprised looks on your peer's faces. He wishes you good luck and a small smile twitched on his lips before you part ways to your assigned seats for the exam.

You are the most grateful you have ever been for the professor's speech droning on about the importance of this final exam because it gives you time to get your mind focused on what's before you and not on who's sitting three seats to your left and four rows back. When the test is laid out before you, your shoulders release that final tension you had been holding and your breath gives a sigh of relief to be settling into something completely in your comfort zone. Reading the questions strangely relaxes you and allows you to lose yourself in the familiarity of it all.

When you hand in your exam and head outside, you feel the most relaxed you have since that summer before. You settle yourself by the lake by yourself as some of your other classmates you're not as close to spread across the grounds. Sitting there, you allow your thought to go back to him and a smile comes to your face.

A shadow falls over you, blocking the sun and you look to see him standing there, slightly behind you. He asks to sit by you, his voice hardly reaching your ears as the warm wind picks them up as if meaning to carry them away, but you can hear the uncertainty in the question. You nod your head, wondering what he might want. He spreads his legs out in front of him before shifting his position and then again until he brings his knees up to him and leans over his legs, seemingly to get closer to the lake.

You have never seen him so uncomfortable and wait for him to speak, somehow knowing that he has something he needs to say. He looks at you and begins, "I need to tell you something, but I feel that in order for you to know how serious I am I have to explain how I came about to change my thinking."

His mouth keeps moving as if unsure if more words are going to come out and his eyes flicker over your face as if trying to read your response before you give it. You nod your consent, utterly intrigued by what he wants to say. He takes a breath before continuing, "My father fell ill sometime during my childhood. There is hardly a memory I have of him not being weak and sickly. Over this past winter break he mustered the last of his strength to talk to me before he passed on."

At this point his gaze turned to the far banks of the lake but his mind had gone away even further than that. "He told me that the most cowardly decision he made in his youth was caring about what society thought. He tried to tell me that it is because of his high standing, the pressures put upon him by his rank that they were the reason why his death was near. Because of what they took from him… My father claimed to have failed me because I became just like him. "

He lowered his gaze to his hands and took a deep breath before continuing. "He called me his deepest shame and greatest failure in life and that if I ever could make him proud I would never end up like him."

"Where do I come in with this?" I asked, not waiting a beat and not being moved by his speech because I knew I couldn't trust him. He turned to me, his half smile present on his face preparing to speak.

"Oh that's simple; I like you." He let out a bark like laugh leaning back away from the lake, once again stretching out his legs, looking like his normal, confident self. "Merlin, you have no idea how long I've wanted to say that but haven't been able to."

"I don't understand."

"Liking you goes against everything I've ever learned. It goes against my entire upbringing and everything that my society values."

"Well, thank you very much, Mr. Potter. Have a good summer." He caught up to me quickly, falling into stride as I made my way back to the castle.

"Can I explain myself to you?"

"No."

"Why not?" I glanced at him to see his lips twitch into a smirk and I knew I was starting to cave in that one motion.

"You've just informed me that I am entirely opposite of everything you want in life. No thank you. I'll pass."

"Don't you see?" He stopped, grasping my hand for the second time that day but I didn't, couldn't, pull it away this time. "That's not what it's like, Lily. Everything that you are is contrary to everything I've learned is best and yet, you're smart, powerful, intense, brave, beautiful… If liking you goes against everything that I've been taught and it feels so right, then the rest must be wrong. Do you understand?"

He looked at me, pulling me closer, searching my eyes for an answer. He whispered to me, "I won't be like my father, doing what is expected of him if I can find happiness doing what I want."

"Are you serious?"

"No! That's my best mate!" While I rolled by eyes his thumbs made circles over the backs of my hands and his head leaned down, even closer to me until our foreheads met and he said quietly, "I'm completely serious. I've thought about making this choice for quite some time now and haven't taking it lightly."

I felt myself stop breathing half way though his speech, shocked that he was truly saying this to me. I nodded my head slowly in understanding but took a step back from him, disentangling myself from his hold. Looking at his face I saw a slight line form between his eyes.

"I don't know you." I opened my mouth to say more but closed it, knowing that was all I had to voice my concerns. His frown line disappeared and his first full fledged smile graced his face, directed entirely at me.

"Well, let's change that."


End file.
